by Darcy Burke
And, more importantly, how could Luci even think to confide in a man guilty of such unsavory activities as being seen at the opera with a woman he was not betrothed to?
Her chin lowered.
She was no better than he.
They both had secrets; however, sharing hers would put her—and her friends—in jeopardy.
And Luci knew Roderick’s secret. In fact, she’d made certain all of London knew it.
Why did a tendril of remorse flicker inside her? Never had she experienced even a hint of doubt or guilt over exposing gentlemen of the ton for what they truly were: scoundrels.
“Lucianna?” he pleaded. The raw nature of his tone pulled at her. Begged her to return to his side.
But for what purpose?
To enter into a sham of a betrothal to appease her father and keep Abercorn at bay.
Turning, Luci notched her chin high. “Lord Abercorn killed my friend. He pushed her down the stairs on their wedding night. I am the only person who saw the entire tragic scene clearly. And no one—with the exception of my friends—believes my tale of the events.”
There. She’d said it.
Now she only need wait for him to laugh, chuckle at her absurd accusation. Roderick would insult her in similar fashion as her father; call her a feather-brained, dim-witted, reckless chit. There would be no need to start the charade of a betrothal because even a man marred by scandal would not allow his name to be linked to a delusional female.
Not that it mattered a whit to her. Luci didn’t trust Montrose. It was far more likely she spoke of Tilda’s death to push him away, not draw him close in confidence.
However, he didn’t turn away from her. Nor did he so much as avert his stare or take a moment to think through what she’d shared.
Instead, he closed the distance between them, taking her into his arms and pressing them tightly together.
“Roderick,” she breathed. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
“The only thing I know how to do…keep you safe.”
His head dipped, and their lips met.
Not like before. Lucianna was not calculating her next move, preparing for a counter-attack, nor planning her escape.
She did not want to flee.
In fact, she wanted nothing more than to be lost in Roderick’s embrace, sheltered from the cruel world around her. Away from the reach of Abercorn, and no longer her father’s pawn.
Here, with the duke’s arms wrapped tightly about her, and his lips upon hers, she could put the need for vengeance behind her. She’d never forget Abercorn’s misdeeds, but they did not consume her.
Roderick consumed her now.
His embrace. His scent. His delicious, crushing hold on her.
It didn’t matter that she’d ruined him before all of society.
It didn’t matter she’d been tarnished by her need to publicly ostracize Abercorn.
Nothing mattered but his arms around her.
Luci was helpless to pull away, to push him away, to fight the connection she sensed forming with this man.
They needed to discuss everything: her involvement with the Mayfair Confidential, her spying on Lord Abercorn with her friends, and her father’s need to control everything he touched. But not now, not here.
Luci’s handbag fell forgotten to the floor, and she clutched at Roderick’s back, pressing her entire length closer to him.
“A-hem?” The male voice cut through the haze surrounding Lucianna, and she reluctantly pulled back from Roderick, fearing the shopkeeper had found them in a most delicate position.
Glancing over her shoulder, it was not Oliver, the shop owner, but Lord Torrington grinning back at her, Edith at his side, while Ophelia hid behind the couple to mask her embarrassed and reddened face.
Roderick fairly growled at the interruption when their lips parted.
As quickly and surprisingly as it had started, Lucianna leapt away from him as she stared over his shoulder.
His rebuff died on his lips when he turned to see a gentleman so large he filled the aisle with his sheer size, a petite blonde woman tucked into his side, and an auburn-haired nymph doing her best to hide from view behind the couple.
Roderick eyed the lady doing her best not to be seen. He had, in fact, seen her before.
“You.” He pointed to her. “You were the one from the ball. You blocked my path and almost allowed Lucianna to escape.”
“Which would make us,” the massive man interrupted, “the couple whose betrothal ball you attended without invite.”
“Lord Torrington, Lady Edith, and Lady Ophelia,” Lucianna stepped in front of Roderick. “May I introduce the Duke of Montrose?”
“You may, but that will not be enough to pacify our curiosity at his presence.” Lady Edith placed her hands upon her hips and scrutinized him as if he were a costly, rare bolt of fabric. One she hesitated to stare at for too long and didn’t dare touch.
“Yes, Luci, what is going on?” Lady Ophelia asked, her head bobbing around Torrington’s shoulder.
“I—well—he—“ She glanced between her friends, a rosy hue blooming on her cheeks.
“I arrived at the Camden townhouse to call on Lady Lucianna. Unfortunately, my manners escaped me, and I did not send word ahead, asking for an audience.” Roderick felt, rather than saw, Lucianna’s eyes on him. “And so, I offered to transport her and her maid here.”
Though if he’d known he was going to face a battle squad, Roderick may have departed the Camden townhouse alone, his flowers still in hand.
“Why were you calling on Luci?” Lady Edith pried, her eyes narrowing on him once more.
“It is a long story.” He waved away her question. “But since you have arrived, I will bid you all ado and leave Lady Lucianna in your company.”
Lucianna’s arm shot out and snagged his sleeve, mercifully dried from the earlier flower incident. She held him in place at her side. “Montrose will remain. This is not as much his issue as ours. It seems my father is entertaining an offer from Abercorn.”
“For what?” Lady Ophelia finally pushed in front of Torrington.
“For my hand in marriage.”
Both women gasped, and Torrington’s shoulders stiffened. “That cannot be true.”
“I assure you it is, my lord,” Roderick replied.
“The Duke of Montrose has graciously also made an offer for my hand.” She glanced up at him for confirmation. When he nodded, Lucianna continued. “And, so, I will accept his offer…for now. But we must find the evidence we need to see Abercorn taken in by the magistrate. Then this whole charade can be put behind us and Roder—the duke—can return to his own endeavors.”
“What in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” Roderick didn’t have any other endeavors, at least not the emotional kind—or any other he was willing to share with Lucianna and her companions.
And why did he care if Lady Lucianna and her friends thought he was involved with another woman?
Three sets of rounded stares turned toward him.
The shopkeeper appeared behind Lord Torrington and the women, holding his finger to his pursed mouth, silently demanding silence.
“Oh, I find I like this man very much,” Torrington barked with laughter.
“He does seem quite useful, doesn’t he?” Lady Edith nodded in agreement.
“But he is rather imposing with his dark features and cold, blue stare,” Lady Ophelia said, inspecting him from head to toe. “However, Luci looked like a storybook heroine in his arms. I could hardly tell where her black locks ended and his onyx hair began.”
Were they seriously discussing him in front of him?
“Imposing?” Roderick could not keep up with the group’s banter. “At least I am not the size of a bison.”
All eyes turned to Torrington, not a single person mistaking whom he spoke of.
“Ah, well, I have been called much worse by a far lovelier person, Montrose. You need to do better if you think to wo
und my delicate sensibilities.” He tapped his finger against his cheek in thought. “I believe an ox was the comparison, though that is very much in line with a bison. Oh, and arrogant and demanding, of course. Am I forgetting anything, my love?”
The blonde, Lady Edith, giggled, lifting on her tiptoes to place a kiss on Torrington’s cheek. “I have apologized many times for calling you arrogant. I still stand behind my oxen reference, though.”
“My lords, my ladies,” the shopkeeper called, bustling down the row toward them, his own silence forgotten as his heeled boots clacked against the hardwood floor. “Please take your rambunctious assembly elsewhere, you are disturbing my patrons who are here for serious pursuits of knowledge.”
“My apologies, Oliver, we will keep our voices down and not disturb anyone.” Lucianna smiled at the shopkeeper, flashing her most angelic, innocent grin, and the man practically wilted where he stood. “If we promise, may we stay?”
Oliver eyed the group, his stare lingering on Lord Torrington a moment longer than the others before he conceded with a nod. “But keep it down, and don’t clutter the row if someone comes looking for a book. I have bills to pay, after all.”
“Of course, sir.”
“We wouldn’t dream of costing you business.”
And finally, from Torrington, “Thank you.”
“This way,” Ophelia waved toward the back of the shop and pushed through the group, making certain not to make eye contact with Roderick. “There is an alcove toward the back where we can speak privately.”
Roderick raised his brow at Lucianna, who only shrugged but followed her friends.
He hung back to allow the women to proceed him into the rear of the shop. That it allowed him a moment to take in the sway of Lucianna’s hips as she linked arms with Lady Ophelia and Lady Edith was only good timing. With their heads tilted together, the trio of women whispered as they hurried to the alcove.
What wasn’t as advantageous, was Torrington matching his slow strides, his hands clasped behind his back.
“They are a formidable group, are they not?” Torrington said in a low tone.
Roderick eyed the women, uncertain what he’d gotten himself involved in and what type of trouble awaited them. “Are they always this…aggressive?”
“Only when they have their minds set on something,” Torrington replied, nudging Roderick onward. “Not long ago, it was me. Thankfully, now, it is…well, you.”
“Me?” Roderick halted as they exited the row of books, and Torrington was able to step next to him as opposed to walking a step behind.
“Oh, make no mistake, Lady Lucianna has her sights set on you.”
The woman was confusing. One moment, she was running from him, the next she’d bitten him, and then she agreed to wed him. “Only a moment ago, she made it very clear she would only agree to a feigned betrothal.”
Torrington patted him on the shoulder and turned toward the women, who’d each taken a seat on the alcove bench as they spoke quietly. “Yes, Lady Lucianna is a bit hard to read; however, she trusts you. It took her weeks to even speak to me.”
Trust was an unfamiliar concept to him, so much more so since his father’s passing.
“I thought this was all about Abercorn and finding proof of what he did…not that I can even say with any certainty what Lady Lucianna is accusing him of.” He watched as the women’s conversation became more intense as their voices rose. Lucianna scowled, and Lady Edith slashed her hand through the air, silencing everyone.
Torrington shook his head. “I fear it took me some time to figure it all out, as well, and it wasn’t until the woman I love“—he tilted his head in Lady Edith’s direction—“disappeared, that I wised up and took this whole Abercorn thing seriously. I’m uncertain if he is guilty of what they are accusing him of; however, the man is guilty of something dastardly.”
“Do you think—“
“Triston.” Lady Edith waved them over, her brow furrowed.
“We best join them before they decide to burn Abercorn’s townhouse to the ground. Or something far worse.”
“What could be worse than setting a house ablaze?” Roderick asked, his shoulders stiffening at the thought.
“Judging from the scowl on Lady Lucianna’s face and the abject terror on Lady Ophelia’s, I think we are about to find out.” Torrington leapt into action far quicker than a man his size should be capable of and called over his shoulder, “We should hurry, before their minds are set.”
Roderick caught up to Torrington as they both entered the alcove, the space having appeared far larger until they joined the women.
“We have decided how to proceed.” The set of Lucianna’s chin and her straight posture was all confidence.
“They have decided,” Lady Ophelia interjected before her cheeks blossomed with heat, almost matching the hue of her long locks.
“There is no other option.” Lady Edith set her hand on Ophelia’s and squeezed. “Our time has run out, and we cannot risk the marquis favoring Abercorn’s pursuit of Luci over yours, Your Grace. The Duke of Abercorn is known for moving quickly to secure what he seeks. His courtship of Tilda only lasted a fortnight before they were properly betrothed, the banns read, and a wedding date set.”
“I still believe there is—“
“There is no other way, Ophelia,” Lucianna cut off the woman’s protest.
“Then what has been decided?” Torrington asked, lowering himself to the bench between Lady Edith and Lucianna.
Roderick ignored the spike of possessiveness that coursed through him at Torrington’s proximity to Lucianna.
“We will knock on his door and simply ask him if he pushed Tilda.” All three women nodded at Lucianna’s proclamation.
“You think it is as simple as all that?” Roderick knew little about the old duke, but outright asking him if he killed a woman did not appear to be the most sensible course of action if they sought to discover what truly happened. “Why would he tell the truth now?”
“Because we plan to expose him in our next Mayfair Confidential column if he refuses to give us answers about the night Tilda died.”
All four nodded in agreement as if writing a risqué column used to ruin men of the ton was not outlandish in any way, but completely commonplace among the group.
Chapter 12
Luci stared out the window as Montrose’s coach turned into her drive and halted before her door.
The journey home had been tense, filled to brimming with awkward silences and averted eyes. Roderick, along with Lord Torrington, had venomously discouraged the women from confronting Lord Abercorn, especially in his own home.
A footman hurried to assist Charlotte down, but Luci waved him off when he offered her his hand.
She needed to speak with Roderick—privately.
Without her maid present, without the fear of an eavesdropping shop owner or her friends close to ask questions she didn’t want to answer. In fact, it was Roderick who owed her answers.
And she would have them, even if she were forced to remain in his coach all night.
The thought sent a tingle through her as she touched her lips, no longer swollen from their kiss, yet she could still imagine the heat of his mouth against hers. Maybe all night with the intense man sitting across from her was not such a discouraging notion.
Luci shook the thought from her mind. Ever since he’d appeared at her door, flowers in hand, she sensed she’d judged him far too harshly and made assumptions inaccurately. It was a trait she despised in others, and she did not take kindly to it in herself.
“Your servant is waiting, my lady.” Roderick shifted on the seat across from her. “There is little doubt the marquis awaits you across the threshold, as well, just out of sight.”
“My father awaits no one, Your Grace.” Luci reclined on the bench, setting her hands lightly in her lap. She was not going anywhere. “If he were home and had any need of me, he would simply drag me from this carriage.”
&
nbsp; She glanced toward the open door, and Roderick followed suit.
“See, the marquis is likely not in residence, or is ensconced in his study.”
“I suppose you are correct,” he conceded. “Your father is a formidable man. I think you take after him in that regard.”
“That is highly insulting.” Luci retorted. Never did she want to be her father—nor her mother, for that matter, but especially not her father. “The marquis is ruthless in business and merciless with his kin. He knows not the meaning of empathy or compassion. I would hope that is not the way you see me.”
Despite all her agitated bluster, he only gave her a toothy grin and chuckled. The odd smile should have added a comical air to his appearance, but it only confirmed that there was a part of him Luci was unaware of.
But if she found out, what would that mean for her determination to see all unsavory men exposed and scandalized?
“While I know my status as an honorable lord has been called into question recently, I have not fallen so far as to think it acceptable or appropriate to insinuate that a woman is lacking in any way. I assure you of that, my lady.” He sobered quickly at her narrowed glare and held up his hands, warding her off. “By formidable, I only meant undaunted by circumstance.”
Her chest tightened at his words. That could only be taken as a compliment.
“May I ask you a question?” He sat forward, her answer seeming to hold immense weight. When she nodded, he continued. “Would it be improper to ask you to accompany me on a stroll down the lane? I find myself thinking you have many questions you wish to ask, and I cannot think to remain in this heated carriage overlong. I believe a spot of fresh air would do us both a lot of good.”
Some time outside, still a private walk, but without the overwhelming urge to place her lips against his once more did sound wise.
She’d never been one to wilt into the arms of a man—especially one with a sordid past.
Admittedly, a disreputable past she had exposed…and was by the minute seeming unlikely for the man she’d come to know during their excursion to the bookshop. But how could she have misjudged him? He was at the opera with a woman who was not his betrothed. What explanation could there be for his action other than a scandalous one? Still, she had the feeling she’d been wrong about him.